Right now the sun is shining, the red of the Bougainville flowers, the emerald on the leaves have light streaming through them, and I can hear the sounds of the traffic merged with the sussuration of the leaves on so many trees. And all I can think of is music.
Sometimes I wish I could take all the depth of feeling, all that Scorpio intensity and pour it into music. Perhaps because I spent so much of my life in silence and sought refuge in words before music found me, the idea of making things heard haunts me. Yes, I used the word haunt. The ability to transform one’s emotions into something tangible, the sharpness of pain echoed by a single violin, the pooling of love in one’s chest with an orchestra, the rumbling of desire with brass that pounds as feet do on dry earth….these things bother me. Or capturing that moment when Love bounces off the eyebrows or smile of another, a trinkling piano like soft summer rain.
And when these thoughts run rampant I can be seen staring into space, my heart dense with sound. How can I explain these things to anyone without them thinking I am mad? Usually when this happens and I am around someone I care for, like my Mother, all I do is plant a rough kiss on her forehead. Okay, a few hundred of them before she tells me to go away.
People feel like music to me. I laughed when I realised that most of the music penned for my ex was set in bed. I was always writing about making love to him, with him! For others there was longing, or desire and the chord progression, if you listened carefully is sharp and painful in places. My crack happy songs all belong to Ben Harper. While the music where I become that whiskey drinking, cigar smoking, unapologetic woman….has pain and anger that is seldom my own.
I dream of staging a concert in a cave, a sacred cave, where the feet, hands, voices and silent prayers have gathered around a people and become part of the earth that surrounds. I imagine making music and lifting those sounds, those voices and carrying them in my voice, amplifying them into the present so that power can be heard once again. Not as a prayer but as the roaring sea.
Yet, when I am around people, finding those words are slippery. This is why I wrote a few days ago that for me…hope is a who with. Being around people who I can explain this to, even as I drown in words or grab their hands with great excitement is all I require, that’s home.
Can you hear the music, I always wonder. I can feel it when you are around me. The jungles and wild barreling from your laughter. The silence of the early morning desert sun looming in your eyes. Stuff like that dammit!
What’s a lady to do eh? Most days I am rather misunderstood anyway. Why try harder now when it feels like I am more primed for sound, for music to move through me and smooth away places I don’t know how to heal.
Have a beautiful day wherever you are. And listen to great music, make it …..or become it.